


Everything Fits

by weegee1204



Series: Everything Fits Universe [1]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (No divorce-centered conflict in this fic), (Their split was mutual and their relationship is good), Alternate Universe - Human, Divorced Logan and Janus, Kid Fic, Kid!Roman, M/M, Parenthood, Single Dad Patton, dad!janus, dad!logan, dad!patton, kid!Remus, kid!virgil, specific warnings before each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weegee1204/pseuds/weegee1204
Summary: Single father Patton is utterly devoted to his son Virgil. Recently divorced Logan is utterly devoted to his twin sons Remus and Roman. The pieces come together.
Relationships: Background Romantic Dorry, Background Romantic Remile - Relationship, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Past Romantic Loceit
Series: Everything Fits Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977547
Comments: 32
Kudos: 168





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> so! long story short, this is a WIP I've had since January 2020, it's very near and dear to my heart, I have about 8 chapters and 15 oneshots planned for this AU, and even though it's not yet finished I want to be able to post what I have because I love this fic v v much and hopefully some of y'all might feel the same!
> 
> (title is from Incomplete by Thomas Sanders, b/c I'm highly predictable)

“Daddy?”

Patton woke up to two tiny hands pressing into his back. He blinked, fumbling for his glasses on his messy bedside table. As he pulled them on, blinking the sleep out of his eye, he couldn’t help but break into a large smile at the figure standing next to his bed.

Virgil was always small for his age, and the giant purple hoodie he insisted on sleeping in practically swallowed him in its soft, thick fabric. It made him look, in Patton’s professional dad opinion, even more adorable than he already was.

He had obviously just woken up— his dark hair was sticking out in all directions, and there was a small line across his cheek that Patton suspected was dried drool. His oversized hoodie sleeves idly swung by his sides. Patton would give almost anything to wake up to that sight everyday.

“G’morning, stormcloud,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke Virgil’s hair. “How did you sleep?”

“Um, good.” Patton frowned a little at the short response.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”

The little boy gnawed on his lower lip— a nervous habit that Patton had never been able to get him to break.

“Um, um, um— I’m sorry I woke you up, but—”

“Hey, Virgil, what’s the sorry rule?” Patton interrupted, grabbing Virgil’s hands to pull him closer.

Virgil looked down at their clasped hands, their fingernails painted a matching shiny purple. 

“Don’t say sorry unless something bad happened,” he recited. It was a highly oversimplified rule, but a seven year old could only handle so much nuance.

Patton nodded, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Virgil’s head. “That’s right, kiddo. Nothing bad happened, so no need to say sorry, right? And in a minute I’ll get dressed, and we can go make waffles for breakfast—”

“But that’s on Saturdays!” Virgil interrupted.

Patton frowned again. The words ‘ _it is Saturday_ ’ were on the tip of his tongue, until something clicked in his sleep-addled brain and— oh, _fuck_.

“Oh, bother,” he said aloud. “It’s Friday, isn’t it?” 

Virgil continued to chew on his lip, nodding. “I woke up and I went to the, the kitchen, and the clock— the big hand was on the nine and the little hand, the little hand was almost on the seven, and—”

6:45. Patton cursed internally again. Virgil was meant to be dropped off at school by 7:00, and although Patton was rarely on time, he was supposed to be at his first job by 7:30. So much for that.

“— so I came, I came in here to wake you up,” Virgil finished, looking at his dad with wide eyes.

Patton took this all in, sighing as he ran his fingers through Virgil’s messy hair.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did, kiddo,” he finally said, smiling softly. “Because somebody—” 

He poked Virgil’s cheek, giving a little laugh when his son giggled and batted the finger away.

“—Needs to get to school, huh?”

Virgil eyes lit up, bouncing on his heels. “Dr. Picani said, he said, he said we’re gonna play with clay today!”

Patton gasped as he stood up, reluctantly letting go of Virgil’s hands to get to his closet.

“Oh my gosh, that’s gonna be so much fun!” he cheered, pulling out two polo shirts and holding them up for Virgil to see.

“Grey or blue?”

Virgil pondered, brow furrowed in concentration. “Blue,” he finally announced.

Patton grinned. “I was thinking the same thing,” he whispered with a wink. “Now how about you go get dressed— I’ll help you with your hair and teeth in a minute— and I’ll throw some bread in the toaster, and you can eat it on the way, okay, stormcloud?”

Virgil nodded. He started walking towards the door, but stopped, fiddling with his sleeves.

“Um—” he blurted. “Can I, can I have a hug, please?”

Patton melted a little at Virgil’s tiny voice.

“Aw, Virgey,” he cooed, “you _never_ need to ask me that!”

He scooped Virgil up into his arms, pressing a wet kiss onto his cheek to make him giggle.

“Ew!” He squirmed in Patton’s grip, laughing maniacally. “Daddy!”

Patton laughed, setting Virgil down. “Now go get dressed, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He straightened up and watched as Virgil left the room, his smile dropping almost immediately.

Of _course_ he had to go and forget to set his alarm last night. Ever since Sunday night, when he had picked up a last-minute shift at the bar, Patton’s internal calendar had been thrown off by a day. 

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing again as he picked up his phone. Today was not off to a great start.

~

“All good?” Patton asked, twisting around to check the seatbelt on Virgil’s booster seat once more. Virgil nodded, his mouth full of bread and jam.

“Okay, let’s hit the road!” 

With that, Patton pulled onto the street a tad bit faster than he normally would, a ‘Best of Disney’ CD playing in the background.

Patton sang along, but his attention was not on the music. Rather, it was on his son, who was getting more and more fidgety the closer they got to the school.

At the next stoplight, Patton turned down the music, catching Virgil’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Vibe check?” he asked. It was a silly joke, some meme Remy had started quoting that Patton had picked up without even really knowing what it meant, but it soon became his and Virgil’s code word for talking about scary stuff like feelings.

Virgil didn’t answer right away, but Patton was patient. 

“I don’t… I don’t want people to look at me when I walk in,” Virgil eventually muttered, eyes on his lap. “‘Cause they’ll think it’s weird that I came in late.”

Patton’s heart sank.

“And… and what if I miss something important, and I won’t know how to catch up, and Dr. Picani will get mad at me—”

Virgil’s voice broke a little as the boy started sniffling.

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton murmured, reaching behind him to grab Virgil’s sticky hand. “Virgil, honey, can we take deep breaths?”

He inhaled loudly enough for Virgil to hear him, and after a few seconds the two exhaled together. They did this for a few breaths, in and out, in and out.

When Patton was confident Virgil wouldn’t start crying, he let go of his hand, bringing it safely back to the steering wheel.

“Are those all the bad things that could happen?”

Virgil nodded in dejection.

“What are the good things that could happen?”

Now the child paused. “Um, um, um, I don’t know.”

Patton thought for a moment. “Well… I think Kai will be pretty happy his best friend came to school, even if you’re late, right?”

He looked to Virgil for confirmation, and after a beat the boy nodded.

“And if you miss any classwork, then maybe Dr. Picani will let you go to the library during playtime to finish it.” 

Virgil nodded again, a little more enthusiastically. He hated the chaos of playtime; children screaming and running around and roughhousing with each other— the library would be a welcome boon from all of that.

“And…” Patton racked his brain for a third example. “And you won’t have to listen to the morning announcements, ‘cause they already happened!” he finished triumphantly, knowing that the ancient speaker system was especially grating on Virgil’s ears.

“Plus, have _you_ ever thought someone was weird, just because they came in the classroom late?” he continued. Virgil shook his head. “So I don’t think anyone will think you’re weird.”

Virgil hesitated. “I guess.”

Patton winced.

“I’m really sorry you feel nervous, kiddo,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

Virgil looked up at him, eyes wide. “It’s okay,” he replied automatically.

Pattons smiled a little. “Are you saying that not to hurt my feelings?” he asked, kindly but sternly.

Virgil looked torn. “Well… I mean— I guess I mean I’m not mad at you, because everybody makes mistakes, and I love you.”

Patton gave a surprised laugh. “I love you, too,” he responded, once again thankful beyond words that Dr. Picani was teaching his son healthy ways to express complex feelings.

“It’s very kind of you to be considerate of my feelings,” he continued, pulling into the school parking lot. “But I’m your daddy, and it’s my job to take care of you. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be double sure it’ll never happen again.”

He looked at Virgil in the rearview. “Can you forgive me?”

Virgil nodded, eyes wide. “I forgive you.”

Patton sighed, looking at his son with adoration. How he got such a great kid, he’ll never know.

As soon as he turned off the car, he hopped out to help Virgil unbuckle his seatbelt and get his backpack on. The young boy clambered out of the car, but made no move towards the large school building.

Patton knelt down to his eye level.

“Do you wanna walk in by yourself, or do you want me to come with you?”

Virgil fiddled with the string on his hoodie. “Aren’t you late for work?”

Patton paused, checking his watch. “Yeah,” he admitted. He always tried to be honest with Virgil when he could. “But I called my boss and told him what happened, so I won’t be in trouble.”

He wasn’t gonna get paid for the hour of work he was going to miss, but Virgil didn’t need to know all that.

“Plus,” he added in an encouraging tone, “you can show me that drawing you told me about? The one Dr. Picani put on the wall because it was so good?”

Virgil flushed a little at the praise. “He put _everybody’s_ drawings on the wall, Daddy,” he insisted, but there was a small smile on his face now.

“Yeah, but I’ll bet there was only one person who thought to draw a robot shark and a sabertooth tiger being best friends. I mean, that’s so creative!”

Virgil shrugged, smiling down at his shoes. “I guess you can see it, if you wanna.”

Patton laughed and held out his hand. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

Hand in hand, the two made the long walk up to the building. As they got closer, Patton squeezed Virgil’s hand.

“What do we say to the door?” he asked— another little ritual between the two.

Virgil giggled, throwing his arms out in front of him like a wizard casting a spell. “Open sesame!”

Patton laughed as he grabbed the handle.

“Thank you, kiddo,” he said, and pulled.

The door stayed shut.

Patton frowned. He pushed it instead. Nothing.

Virgil lowered his arms. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Nothing,” Patton hurried to say. He pulled again, then pushed again. “I think… I think it’s locked.”

Immediately Virgil’s smile dropped.

“Why is it locked?” he asked, a little bit of anxiety returning to his voice. Patton pulled the door yet again, but it stayed firmly shut.

“I don’t know, kiddo.” He scanned the wall for anything that would unlock the door. There was a keycard scanner on the metal doorframe, but Patton didn’t have a clue how to activate it.

He could sense Virgil was about to get upset again, and he rubbed a hand against his son’s shoulder.

“Okay, let’s take some deep breaths. We’ll get you into class, one way or another.”

“Why would they keep the stupid door locked?” Virgil demanded, and normally Patton would remind him to use nicer language, but to be honest, he was thinking words that were a fair bit harsher than ‘stupid’ at the moment. He didn’t look at his watch again, but he knew that he really didn’t have the time to wait around for someone to walk by the door.

He turned around, about to suggest they try to find another door to get into the building, but found himself face to face with… another pair of glasses?

He gasped, hand flying up to his chest as he stepped back from the figure who was suddenly in his personal space. The other man— tall, sharply dressed, with square framed glasses perched on his nose— looked appropriately guilty at Patton’s reaction.

“Apologies,” he commented in a clipped tone. “I was in a hurry and I did not realize you weren’t entering the door.”

Patton was having a little trouble bringing his focus away from the man’s deep blue eyes, until he felt Virgil squeeze his hand, bringing him back down to Earth.

“No worries!” he responded faux-cheerfully, as the blue-eyed man moved around him to approach the door. “We, uh, we think it’s locked.”

He paused, looking back at Patton as he pulled something out of his pocket. “I have a keycard.”

With one swift motion, he swiped the card, pulled on the door, and moved to the side, holding it open as he looked at Patton expectantly. 

“Oh, um, thank you,” Patton stammered, gently pushing Virgil through the door in front of him. “Come on, Virgil.”

The two made their way into the hall, Virgil pulling Patton by the hand through the unfamiliar building. 

“The office is over here,” he whispered, just loud enough for Patton to hear. Patton nodded, picking up his pace a little bit but still lagging behind Virgil.

They walked a few feet before a voice chimed in again.

“It’s a safety protocol.”

Patton turned in confusion, finding Blue Eyes walking nearly next to him with long, confident strides. He opened his mouth to ask for clarification before he realized that the man was not looking at him— he was looking at Virgil. Patton turned around just in time to see Virgil give the man a suspicious look.

“What?” Patton winced a little at his bluntness, but Blue Eyes seemed unbothered.

“You asked why they keep the door locked. It’s a safety protocol. It prevents unauthorized people from entering the school building during the day.”

Virgil frowned and curled in on himself. Patton waited two beats before realizing he wasn’t going to reply.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense!” he jumped in, not wanting to be rude to the man, who turned his gaze onto him.

“Yes,” Blue Eyes replied after a moment, “although I suppose there should be some way for parents and visitors to enter the building without having to wait for someone with a keycard to happen by. I will be certain to address this in our next staff meeting.”

Patton blinked, a little bit unsure if the man was still really talking to him or just thinking aloud.

“Probably a good idea,” he replied anyway.

He suddenly felt himself jerk as Virgil turned a sharp corner, pulling him into a nearly identical hallway. Blue Eyes continued to walk with them, speeding up to keep pace with Patton.

Patton gave a sheepish smile. “We’re running a bit late,” he said by way of explanation.

“As am I,” Blue Eyes replied. “Almost ten years of teaching and this is the first time I’ve been late to work.”

Patton’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Well, I hope— I mean, obviously, I don’t want to keep you from your class, if that’s the reason you’re walking with us—” 

He fumbled through the sentence, trying to politely let the man off the hook if he was already late for work, but he stopped himself as Blue Eyes shook his head.

“No, no, it’s nothing to do with you. I need to pick up some photocopies for my class from the main office. I would be going this way regardless,” he stated. Patton felt himself blush a little.

“Oh, okay. Good.”

The trio arrived at the office, again with the blue-eyed man holding the door open for Patton and Virgil. As soon as they were inside, Virgil bolted to the back of the office where the late entry sign-in sheet lay. Patton meandered towards him, but stopped when he heard the man clear his throat.

“After some… reflection,” he began with consideration, “I realize that my behavior might have seemed off putting, or perhaps even rude. I apologize.”

Patton blinked in surprise at the sincerity in the man’s voice. “No, are you kidding? You definitely saved our butts back there, getting the door and all. You’re my hero!” he joked, choosing to ignore the potential awkwardness of the statement.

Nevertheless, Blue Eyes smiled. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

Again Patton expected that to be the end of the conversation, especially considering the man apparently needed to pick up some papers for his class, but Blue Eyes continued to look at him.

“Logan Croft,” he said suddenly, sticking out his hand. Patton was picking up on the man’s— Logan’s— tendency to jump between conversation points.

“Patton Hart,” he responded, shaking his hand. Logan’s grip was firm in his, and Patton became very aware of the jam residue Virgil had left on his palm.

Despite this, Logan made no move to pull away for a few more beats, eventually dropping his hand.

“How old is… Virgil?” Logan asked, eyes darting to the young boy again.

Patton smiled on reflex. “Seven.”

Logan seemed pleased with his answer. “Ah. A good age. Hopefully not too rebellious yet.”

“No, no, he’s a great kid,” Patton assured, laughing lightly. The two watched as Virgil stood on his tiptoes to fill out the sign-in sheet, his pencil gripped tight in his fist as he wrote his name in careful, blocky letters.

“Do you have any children?” Patton asked on a hunch. He smiled to himself as he saw Logan’s eyes light up. Bingo.

“Twin boys, age ten,” he replied in a voice full of pride.

Patton laughed again. “Oh, gosh!” That made a lot of sense, given how Logan was currently watching Virgil with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. “Twin preteen boys, that can’t be a walk in the park.”

“Yes, they can be… _more_ than a handful at times,” Logan admitted. “My husband—”

He faltered for a brief moment.

“... My ex-husband handles their fluctuating emotional states much more delicately than I do,” he finished. 

Patton knew not to comment on Logan’s slip up, or the change in his demeanor. Instead, he smiled softly.

“Well, you’ve been nothing but kind to me and Virge here,” he said, shrugging lightly. “So I reckon you’re probably a really great dad.”

Logan met his eyes again, giving him a smile that made Patton feel a little flushed. “Likewise.”

Patton felt a tugging at his hand again, causing him to look down.

“You ready, kiddo?” he asked. Virgil nodded, a tardy pass clutched in his fist. 

Patton turned to face Logan again, but he wasn’t there. Confused, he looked around, just in time to see the other man duck into a back office space.

That was… surprisingly disappointing, but Patton couldn’t dwell on it. He turned his attention back to his son.

“Let’s get you to class, stormcloud,” he chirped briskly, moving them both towards the door. He had just started to push it open when he heard a voice behind them.

“Virgil?”

The two turned in sync. There was Logan, watching them from the doorway he disappeared through, a stack of papers in his arms.

“I like your hoodie,” he said.

Patton felt Virgil abruptly squeeze his hand tighter, a slight distraction from the way his own heart seemed to skip a beat. He smiled, opening his mouth to respond on his son’s behalf, and— 

“Thank you!” Virgil replied.

Virgil… replied? To a stranger? Without Patton prompting? He felt his eyes bug out of his head, and he tried not to openly gawk at his son, who was— oh my Gosh. Virgil was smiling at Logan, and suddenly he raised the hand not holding onto Patton, and he waved!

Patton whipped his head back to Logan, watching in shock as he waved back at his son. He met Patton’s eyes, and his friendly smile turned into one of understanding. Patton couldn’t help but grin a little too wide as he waved as well, the two of them finally exiting the office as the door swung shut behind them.

“Daddy! He said, he, he said he liked my hoodie!” Virgil was practically jumping up and down. Patton didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“I heard,” he finally managed, his smile somehow growing even wider as he added, “And you said thank you, just like you’re supposed to when someone compliments you! You did such a good job, kiddo, I’m so proud of you!”

Maybe he was making this into a bigger deal than it was, but Virgil was almost cripplingly shy when it came to strangers, especially grownups; and yet within five minutes with Logan, he had been able to smile and speak and even _wave_.

Patton changed his mind. This was one of the best mornings in his memory.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, urging Virgil to pull him down the hall. “Lead the way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr at [olliedollie1204](olliedollie1204.tumblr.com)!


	2. The Follow Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2, we know what that means. time for a P-P-P-POV CHANGE
> 
> anyways, warning for general discussion of divorce, sibling bickering, brief descriptions of injury, and arguments between ex-spouses!

Logan mostly pushed the morning’s incident out of his mind, switching gears into what Janus lovingly referred to as his “Robo-Teacher” mode. After he relieved the substitute from her position watching his class, he wasted no time in getting the second graders back on schedule.

They were good kids, if a bit rambunctious, but Logan enjoyed the work. Children are so much _brighter_ than society gives them credit for. All they want is what anybody would want: to be heard, and respected, and taken seriously. Logan could understand that; he remembered feeling exactly the same way when he was a child.

So even though he had a reputation as a stickler for rules, order, and schedules, he actually didn’t mind too much when a student would interrupt math time with an unrelated question like, “Mr. Croft, why can’t we drink hand sanitizer?”, or when one would come up to his desk during silent reading with a request of, “Mr. Croft, can you tell us about stars, please?”

He would simply nod and change the subject, giving an impromptu lecture about alcohol poisoning or Alpha Centauri, and within minutes his pupils were satisfied and engaged again.

This attitude was a little unorthodox among his peers, but made him a hit among the children. Every holiday would result in his desk being covered in candies and coffee mugs and handmade cards (which he saved in his bottom right desk drawer— every single one).

So the day was not wholly unenjoyable, even though it had gotten off to a rocky start. Truthfully, he really had never once been late to work, not even when the twins were little.

Logan sighed to himself as his work was once again interrupted by thoughts of his children. At least he didn’t have any reason to worry about them at the moment. They were happy, healthy, and safe— three things that were becoming harder and harder to maintain in his prepubescent sons.

In hindsight, babies are remarkably uncomplicated compared to the minefield that is nearly-teenage children. Babies simply have certain physical, mental, and emotional needs that must be met in order for them to grow up happy, healthy, and well developed. And Logan, not to brag, was _very_ good with babies. 

Especially cute little twin baby boys, with their gurgling coos and their sweet smiles and their tiny, pudgy hands, one for each of their daddies to hold— 

Logan shook his head, attempting to read the words in front of him for the third time, but he still found his mind drifting to his sons.

That was the main problem, really: Logan was constantly thinking about the twins.

The thing is, there was really no reason for Logan to worry as much as he did. Roman could be a little self-absorbed, and Remus had no concept of a filter whatsoever, but they were generally kind, courageous, and so _unbelievably_ creative, it made Logan wonder where on Earth they got it from. Certainly not him; the arts were admittedly not his forte, although he did know a great deal of trivia about art history. And although Janus was crafty and charming, even he had to admit that he had no idea where the boys got their innate sense of innovation and originality.

Logan hummed, tapping his pen against his desk as his mind drifted from his children to his ex.

His relationship with Janus was about as healthy as ex-husbands could be— you’d think that getting divorced from a lawyer would be hell on Earth, but Janus Sanders had gotten to be one of the top attorneys in the city for a reason. He was so furiously thorough at ensuring everything was fair and just in their divorce papers, Logan hadn’t doubted for a second that everything would end on equal terms.

_He’s a good man_ , Logan thought, not for the first time. They still liked each other, but they weren’t in love, not really— not anymore. It had taken them so long to get to the point where they could make that distinction, and even though they knew it would’ve been easier to carry on in their marriage, neither could deny the somewhat sombering realization that their separation was for the best.

That was a year and a half ago. And things were good between them, sometimes better than they were when they were married, but if he was being honest, Logan just missed his kids.

He had stayed up all night last night thinking about them; their goodnight phone call had been cut short when Roman burst in on Remus’ time, begging his brother to help him add something to their current art project before they had to go to bed. And Logan understood how important their projects were to them, he really did, but he couldn’t deny the twinge of hurt when the line went dead, his sons on the other side of the city. They might as well have been a world apart.

So he had gotten very little sleep the night before, and this morning, he had overslept.

Logan knew, rationally, that it was not a big deal: he had immediately called the school, requesting a temporary sub to watch his class, and set about preparing for his day. He lived relatively close to the school, so despite the increase of morning traffic due to him leaving at a later time, Logan knew he would be there before a substantial amount of time had passed.

But still, it was the principle of the thing, to be on time for work. And then he had remembered that he needed to make those photocopies for his students, and he had been in such a rush to get to his class, until— 

He paused, letting his mind drift to the interaction he had had with the man— with Patton— this morning. He found himself flushing a little, even hours after the conversation, as he thought back on the awkward way he had first invaded Patton’s personal space, then spoke to his child without his permission, and _then_ proceeded to continue to converse with him when he and his son were very clearly in a hurry.

And Patton had been so polite, trying to let Logan know he didn’t need to walk them to the office, and he had replied, what? ‘ _It has nothing to do with you_ ’? ‘ _I would be going this way regardless_ ’?

He groaned internally. It was not a pleasant interaction to look back on. Normally, he would push it out of his mind altogether, but…

But Patton had been kind, not judging him for his somewhat stilted way of speaking. He had asked him about his kids, a topic of conversation which Logan could never possibly tire of. And he was clearly a doting father to Virgil, who was, in Logan’s professional dad opinion, objectively adorable.

He hadn’t meant to duck out right before the two of them had to leave; he had seen Virgil coming to rejoin his father, and Logan could tell that the boy was at least moderately uncomfortable around him. He had quickly stepped away to give them space, entering the break room and beginning the photocopying process, but when he heard Patton make a comment about getting Virgil to his classroom, he suddenly realized that he couldn’t let them go without saying _something_.

So when he saw that they were mere seconds away from stepping out the door, he acted without thinking, calling out Virgil’s name on a whim.

He remembered how the two had turned to him, identical looks of confusion on their faces, and how he had scrambled for something to say to the shy boy, something that would perhaps make up for all of the mistakes he had made earlier in the conversation.

So he took a swing, and complimented his hoodie.

In no way could he have predicted the reaction he got. Virgil, who up until this point had barely even looked at Logan, broke into a delighted smile, chirped “Thank you!” in a clear, sweet voice, and waved his free hand at Logan so hard that the hoodie sleeve flopped around in the air.

And Patton— Patton’s reaction was almost as good: the half-second as he registered that Virgil had spoken to Logan directly, and the uninhibited joy in his face as he looked at his smiling son made Logan feel… well. He didn’t know what exactly that smile made him feel. Maybe satisfaction, that he was able to help Virgil in a way that made Patton so happy? He pondered it for a moment more before shaking his head. Feelings were really not his area.

And right before they left, as Virgil practically skipped into the hallway with Patton in tow, the two men met eyes yet again, only this time there was something different in Patton’s gaze— not just friendliness, but like he was… exceedingly grateful. Yes, that was it. His gaze was full of gratitude for Logan, for the small act of kindness that apparently would leave a big impression on his son. Then he, too, raised his hand and waved at Logan, and Logan waved back, and then the door shut, and they were gone.

Logan stared into space for several seconds, picturing Patton’s smile in his mind’s eye, before straightening up in his chair. He would think about this interaction in greater detail after his work day ended. In the meantime, he picked up a pen, continuing to decipher the scrawled handwriting of his students.

He was glad his class had electives for the last section of the day; he had the classroom to himself for 45 minutes up until the final bell, which usually gave him plenty of time to finish his work before the school day officially ended. But today, his attention kept drifting to the clock on his desk, until he looked up as it read 2:03.

His fingers twitched slightly as he did the math in his head: school let out at 2:00 on the dot, his classroom was on the second floor of the main building, and it was approximately a five minute walk to here from the gymnasium; so if two little boys were to, hypothetically, sprint at full speed from the gym as soon as the bell rang, in order to come join Logan in his classroom, then they should be arriving right about— 

“Dad!”

Logan dropped his pen, spinning haphazardly in his desk chair just in time to catch the child that was diving in to wrap his arms around his waist.

Immediately he felt himself break into a large smile. “Hello, Roman.”

The boy in his arms pulled back, grinning wildly. Both of his sons were on the scrawny side, but Roman was already building up a bit of muscle mass, while his brother seemed content with somehow becoming even more gangly and bony with each passing day.

“Where were you this morning?” Roman demanded, shifting to sit on Logan’s knee.

“We thought you got hit by a _bus!_ ” Remus interjected with glee, running in to give Logan a quick hug before hopping up to sit on a desk.

Roman frowned. “No, _we_ didn’t,” he insisted. “ _I_ said you were probably running late, and— oh!”

He suddenly tugged on Logan’s shirtsleeve. “And Remus called me stupid! This morning! He called me stupid, Dad!”

Logan shifted his eyes to his other son.

“Remus?”

Remus shrugged, not looking sorry. “He said something stupid. You’re never late.”

“First of all, although it’s true one might say something which may be qualified as ‘stupid’,” Logan began, rubbing circles on Roman’s back as he lectured Remus, “it’s inappropriate to assume that a single statement is indicative of one’s intelligence. Second, don’t call your brother stupid, you both have big, beautiful brains,” he continued, planting a kiss on Roman’s temple, which the young boy attempted to duck away from.

“And third,” he finished, “Roman was correct. I was running late this morning, and I did not arrive until school had already started.”

“Ha!” Roman exclaimed in a gloating fashion. Remus seemed unbothered by being proven wrong, instead leaning forward to taunt, “I’m gonna tell Papa you were late for school!”

“Please do,” Logan replied dryly. “He’ll probably find it highly amusing.”

As he spoke, he reached into his desk drawer, pulling out two packs of fruit gummies. Both boys gasped as Logan passed one to each of them.

“Thanks, Dad!” they said simultaneously, ripping open the snacks. Logan grinned.

“Now, if my memory is correct, I believe it is Remus’ turn to tell me about his day first.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “No, it’s not!”

“That was rhetorical,” Logan replied. “I am positive it is Remus’ turn. You went first yesterday, because you wanted to show me your paper mache project. Remember?”

Roman paused, then groaned. “But that’s not fair!”

“Yes, it is!” Remus jumped in, his mouth full of gummies.

“Not!”

“Is!

“Not!”

“Is!”

“Not!”

“Is!”

Logan sighed. The twins would literally keep this up for hours if he let them.

“Time out,” he interjected. The boys shut down immediately, turning to him with matching sheepish expressions, and Logan would have to remember to thank Emile again for suggesting he and Janus implement that technique back when the boys were first learning how to talk.

“Roman, will you please staple these papers for me while Remus talks about his day?”

Roman huffed and slid off of Logan’s lap, sticking his tongue out at his twin as he did so.

“What would happen if I stapled myself?” Remus asked Logan with idle curiosity. “Would it hurt?”

“Depends on where, exactly, you stapled yourself,” he replied as he passed Roman the stapler and stack of papers.

“My finger?”

Logan hummed. “It would hurt like a pinch, but as long as you pulled the staple out smoothly and made sure to disinfect and bandage the wound afterwards, you would be fine.” 

“Can I try it?”

“If you feel like you need to experience the pain in order to learn why you shouldn’t staple yourself, go ahead, but I will not feel sympathy for you when you get a booboo.”

Remus wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Don’t call it that, I’m not a baby!”

Logan bit back a smirk. “Of course not.”

Roman cleared his throat.

“ _Excuse_ me,” he interjected. “Will you start talking about your day, so that _I_ can talk about _my_ day?”

Remus made a face at his brother, but he did turn to Logan and begin rambling about his day, from the bus ride to school to the food they had for lunch to the game he, Corbin, and Sloane played at recess. He was halfway through explaining the increasingly incomprehensible rules for the game (something about who could perform the most dangerous stunts on the playground equipment while simultaneously answering trivia questions about their favorite cartoons) when Logan caught sight of the clock, realizing almost fifteen minutes had gone by.

“Switch,” he interjected the next time Remus took a breath.

“Aw, what?” Remus protested as the two boys swapped places, Roman hopping onto the desk while Remus grabbed the stapler.

“Your bus arrives at 2:30, and I still need to hear about Roman’s day.”

“But I didn’t even get to tell you about the bee that got in the classroom,” Remus grumbled.

“Save it for tonight,” Logan commented absentmindedly. Silence followed for almost two full seconds, which was a clear sign of trouble with the twins.

Logan looked up from his gradebook to see the two having a silent conversation. Whether it was from growing up attached at the hip or a genuine case of twin telepathy, Logan couldn’t be sure, but very often the twins could convey rather convoluted ideas to each other using only their faces.

“What are you hiding?” he asked bluntly. Both children jumped.

“Nothing!” Roman insisted, turning and giving him what he probably thought was a winning smile (it was, but Logan would not be distracted).

He turned to his other son, who was suddenly very interested in sorting the papers into neat piles.

“Remus?”

“Hm?” he replied, looking up innocently. “Did you say something, Father?”

“Boys—” 

“We’re going to a sleepover tonight!” Roman blurted out. Remus groaned.

“Why did you say it?” he asked accusingly. “You suck at lying.”

“Stop.” Logan held up a hand. “Explain, now.”

Roman took a deep breath. “It’s Sloane’s birthday today, and he invited all of us—”

“He invited _me_ , and told me you could tag along—”

“Falsehood! The invitation had both of our names on it!” Roman shot back with a dirty look at his brother. He turned back to Logan, continuing, “He invited us and Elliott and Corbin to a sleepover at his house, and, um, he said we could come over at six, and we know we usually do our goodnight call at nine, but—”

“You will ideally be busy gorging on pizza and playing video games at that time,” Logan finished, giving them a measured look. “That’s why you didn’t want to tell me?”

The boys looked down in guilt, nodding.

Logan toyed with the pen in his hand.

“Come here,” he said suddenly, patting his lap.

Roman and Remus hesitated, glancing at each other for a moment, before Remus bound over and sat down on Logan’s left leg. He leaned his head on Logan’s shoulder, and Logan’s hand instinctively came up to stroke his hair. Roman soon followed, taking his spot on Logan’s right leg.

Logan gave an exaggerated groan. “You’re almost getting too big for this,” he said, bouncing his legs as much as he could under the boys’ weight. They both giggled at the movement, each clutching onto his shirtsleeves to avoid falling off.

Logan took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “We know, Dad.”

Logan leaned forward to kiss Remus’ forehead, causing the young boy to squawk.

“I love you,” he said again. He turned his head, catching Roman with a kiss on the cheek.

“Ew, Dad!” Both boys were blushing at the display of parental affection, but they were smiling, too.

“I love you,” he repeated once more. “Nothing you can do will ever change that. Even missing our goodnight call.”

Both boys seemed to relax, and Logan felt his heart swell a little bit.

“Don’t lie to me again,” he finished sternly.

“We won’t!” the twins chimed in unison. Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Falsehood,” he muttered, before asking out of pure curiosity, “What was going to be your excuse for when nine o’clock rolled around and I didn’t get a call from you?”

“Rats chewed the phone wires,” Roman and Remus replied instantly. Logan registered this for half a second before he let out a bark of laughter.

“That makes perfect sense.”

~

“So, the boys are at a sleepover tonight.”

“Yes, I walked them over to Sloane’s house about an hour ago,” Janus replied, his smooth voice losing its hypnotic effect over the phone.

“And when, exactly, was I going to be informed of the whereabouts of our children for approximately the next 18 hours?”

Silence came from the other end of the call before Janus gave a huff of annoyance. “They told me they told you about this days ago.”

Logan smirked, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he carried his dinner to the dining room table. “I’m beginning to see why we should not trust our children to act as go-betweens.”

Janus heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Croft. I don’t have any idea why they would lie about something so minute.”

“Falsehood, we both know they were doing it to protect my feelings,” Logan replied in a clipped tone.

“You know, I did think it was weird when they insisted they would be okay making their goodnight call from Sloane’s house,” Janus remarked idly. Logan could picture him sitting in his home office, his feet propped up on his desk as he spoke. “I had assumed they had reached some level of maturity where it’s not embarrassing to love their parents.”

“An obvious mistake on your part.”

Logan could also picture the smirk Janus was currently trying (and failing) to suppress. “Clearly.”

Logan resituated himself as he sat at the table, turning on speakerphone and placing the phone next to his plate.

“Speaking of our children being liars,” Janus continued, “Remus had this crazy story about you being late for work.”

Logan reached over to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher. “Crazy indeed. I didn’t arrive until almost eight.”

“And the school descended into anarchy and chaos,” Janus deadpanned.

“My students were merely happy for a break,” Logan replied. “I should’ve slept in a little longer to give them the entire morning off.”

The conversation fell silent for long enough that Logan leaned over to check that the call hadn’t dropped.

“You overslept?”

Logan blinked in surprise at Janus’ incredulous tone. “Correct.”

“You. Logan Croft. Overslept.”

“Is our connection failing? Are you having trouble hearing me?”

“Logan,” Janus said with the air of someone who was explaining something very simple. “I have known you since you would bike to school on four hours of sleep and three energy drinks, stay awake in all eight classes, go to at least one extracurricular after school, work retail for a few more hours, do homework until you passed out, and then do it all over again the next day. You have never overslept in your life.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replied. “In fourth grade—”

“ _Why_ did you oversleep today, Croft?”

Logan paused. “I was… thinking,” he admitted.

Janus waited a few seconds before prompting, “About…” 

“About the boys,” Logan confessed, suppressing a sigh.

Immediately Janus dropped his overcasual schtick. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing at all,” Logan rushed to reassure him. “I was merely reminiscing about some of their childhood antics, and it prevented me from going to sleep on time.”

“… Antics like when they accidentally ripped a book of stickers they’d been fighting over for an hour, and proceeded to scream like banshees in the middle of a crowded Walmart?”

Logan smirked. “Antics like when they ran around the house with pull-ups on their heads, calling themselves aliens and demanding we take them to our ‘leader-ers’.”

Janus snorted with laughter. “Oh, God. I’ll have to find those pictures for their next birthday party.”

“I’m sure they’ll thank you for bringing up such delightful memories in front of their friends.”

“Snarky today, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, Sanders.”

A companionable silence fell as Logan finished his dinner.

“Are you okay?” Janus asked, gentle in the way he only got when he spoke to Logan or the twins.

Logan hesitated for just a moment before answering, “Of course.”

“Because if you want to take the boys out somewhere tomorrow night, I’m sure they’d—”

“It’s important we stick to the schedule,” Logan interrupted, a touch more defensively than necessary. “It’s your weekend with them, and I don’t wish to complicate things.”

Janus paused, and then scoffed. “It’s not… _complicating things_ if you want to spend time with our children, Logan.”

“You’re already sacrificing one of your nights together for the boys to attend this sleepover,” Logan insisted, feeling himself becoming increasingly irritated that Janus wouldn’t drop the subject. “I don’t want to take another night away from you.”

His ex-husband’s voice dripped in derision as he cooly remarked, “I love how it doesn’t even cross your mind to consider that the two of us could possibly spend an evening with our children _together_. So glad to know you would rather spend your night alone than have to be near me for even a sec—”

Logan hung up, his hands shaking as he attempted to hit the button to end the call. He hadn’t realized he was clenching his jaw until he forced himself to release the tension in his body. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Logan had known Janus for over half his life. They had been married for almost as long— 18 and fresh out of high school, Janus insisting he was only doing it for the tax benefits right up until Logan had kissed him in the middle of city hall. They had spent the last decade raising their sons together.

Logan did love Janus. Which is why moments like this, moments that reminded him why they shouldn’t be together, were so particularly painful.

He continued to fume for a few moments, replaying his ex’s callous tone and harmful accusations, but his mind also drifted to how he had shut down Janus’ genuine attempt to be considerate of his feelings, how abruptly Logan himself had left the argument when he didn’t know what to say.

The anger seeped out of him, replaced with something akin to shame. Logan curled inwards, leaning his head on his hands.

It made sense that all of their worst fights in recent history had been over their children. Janus was an excellent father, Logan recognized, his thoughts turning somewhat bitter as he continued, _a better father than me_ — 

Suddenly he saw Patton’s face in his mind. Patton smiling at him kindly when Logan had slipped up and made his divorce obvious. His quiet voice, telling Logan, ‘ _I reckon you’re probably a really great dad_ ’. Logan focused on the words, allowing himself to remember the sincerity in Patton’s voice.

It didn’t make sense how much comfort Logan found in the memory. Patton didn’t even know him, had never seen him interact with any children besides Virgil, and even that had started off poorly.

But for some reason, when Patton had reassured him, Logan wanted to believe him.

Logan realized he had been staring into space for a few minutes, finally shaking his head to bring himself back to reality. 

He reached over to grab his phone, muscle memory taking over as he dialed the familiar number, but when it rang in his hand Logan remembered that his ex was just a little bit faster than him when it came to self-reflection.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” came Janus’ voice as soon as Logan answered. “I didn’t— I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Logan sighed. “I apologize, as well. Ending the call in that manner wasn’t productive or healthy.”

Again Logan could visualize the way Janus was waving his hand in the air dismissively. 

“Pobody’s nerfect.”

Logan’s lips quirked into an involuntary smile. “What a ridiculous statement. I had assumed an attorney would have a more advanced vocabulary than that.”

“Lawyer, shmawyer.”

Logan laughed lightly, and he swore he could hear Janus’ grin through the phone.

“While I do appreciate your offer,” Logan eventually continued, breezing past the topic of the previous argument, “I have plans tomorrow evening regardless.”

“Oh?” Janus questioned casually. “Hot date?”

Logan scoffed. “An all-day teaching seminar,” he replied with distaste, “in which a group of corporate-funded administrators are going to spend twelve hours lecturing the faculty of the top school in the state about how we need to be making them more money.”

Janus clicked his tongue in sympathy. “Plus on Monday, you’ve got that parent-teacher meet and greet thing at the school.”

Logan paused for one, two, three seconds, before letting out an unceremonious, “Fuck.”

He heard Janus laughing on the other end of the call. “Sorry I said anything.”

“No, it’s fine.” Logan heaved a sigh. “I had forgotten that was this week as well, and I still have to prepare packets for all of my students’ guardians—”

He froze midway through his sentence. 

“Logan?” he faintly heard Janus ask. Patton’s smile flashed through his mind again.

“Yes,” he responded, a little too quickly. “I apologize. I just remembered I have more work to do than I thought, and I will need to hang up now to complete it.”

“Uh huh,” Janus replied slowly, sounding unconvinced. “Cough twice if you’re being held hostage.”

Logan coughed once, pointedly falling silent.

“... Oh, you’re funny, you know that? Just _absolutely_ hilarious.” The sarcasm in Janus’ voice was palpable, making Logan grin.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he said with affection.

Logan could hear the fondness in his ex-husband’s voice as he responded with a quiet, “G’night, Croft”, before the line went dead.

Logan turned his phone over in his hands, his mind far away. The likelihood that Logan would see Patton again at this event was causing him to feel a strange sort of tension. He didn’t understand it. Why was he still thinking about this man, this stranger, really, who he had spoken to for less than five minutes?

Logan couldn’t answer that question. All he knew was that he would most likely have trouble falling asleep again tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr at [olliedollie1204](olliedollie1204.tumblr.com)!


	3. The Next Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter three! time for some Self Indulgent Background Characters!  
> warnings for an instance of unwanted advances and a very brief reference to internalized homophobia!

“And then, Rem, you’ll never believe it— he _waved_ at Logan!” Patton exclaimed, leaning against the counter he was only halfway finished with wiping down.

If anybody else had been his manager, Patton imagined that he would’ve gotten written up for how little work he had done today.

Lucky for him, as the sole founder and proprietor of the Sandman Cafe, Remy Dormer didn’t give a fuck if his best friend since childhood took a break from peddling overpriced coffee to brag about his son.

“No shit?” Remy asked, his eyebrows raised so high they disappeared behind his carefully styled bangs. “Didn’t know Lil’ Hart had it in him.”

Patton grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “I mean it, I’d be late to work every single day if it meant I got to see him smile like that.”

“How late were you?”

Patton pursed his lips. “About an hour,” he admitted. “My supervisor wasn’t too happy, but we were short staffed, so she didn’t write me up or anything.”

Remy sighed. “I can’t wait until you get out of that shithole.”

“It’s really not so bad,” Patton defended, although he didn’t really know why he was bothering. “I mean, I pick up some boxes, I put ‘em in a truck. Rinse and repeat!”

Remy still looked unhappy. “At least when you bartend, you get tips. All you get there is back pain and calluses.” As he spoke, he suddenly jumped up from the stool he was perched on, pushing it over to Patton. “Sit down, Pops.”

Patton snorted. “You’re six months _older_ than me,” he protested, but he did take advantage of getting off his feet for a bit.

“Besides, I like doing hands-on work like that,” Patton continued, speaking in truth. “It makes me feel good about myself. Like I’m doing everything I can to provide for my family.”

Remy snorted. “You sound like such a dad.”

“Well, I am one, aren’t I?” Patton replied. Remy raised his hands in defeat.

“No complaints from me. Virgil’s the best kid I know.”

“And how many kids do you know, exactly?”

Remy waved his hand dismissively. “Unimportant. Point is, you bust your ass for your kid, and I love that about you.”

Patton couldn’t help the ‘aw’ that escaped from his lips. “I love you too, Rem!”

Remy smirked back. “Course ya do, babes,” he replied as he moved to count the money in the register. “I’m a delight.”

Patton laughed, settling back comfortably, letting the familiar banter between the old friends fall away into a companionable silence. 

“It really was a wonderful morning,” he murmured.

“And it’s all thanks to that tall, dark stranger, huh?” Remy teased.

Patton was grateful that Remy’s back was to him, so he couldn’t see the shit-eating grin his friend was definitely giving him right now. “Remy—” 

“I mean, Patty, be real: he was cute, right?”

“Remy!” Patton laughed, feeling himself getting flustered. “It— he— it wasn’t—”

Remy threw his head back in laughter, shoulders shaking.

“Calm down, Papa Bear, don’t have a heart attack.”

Patton didn’t answer, just crossed his arms and tried to not embarrass himself further.

“Besides, if he made Virgil smile, I don’t give a shit what he looked like. He’s a hero in my book,” Remy continued with a tone of finality.

Patton shook his head in wonder, thinking back to the little wave Logan gave him right before Virgil ushered them both out of the office. “I swear, I’ve never seen Virgil so happy to talk to a stranger before.”

He paused.

“Not that I encourage my child to talk to strangers!” he stated a little louder, eyes darting around to reassure any eavesdroppers that there was no need to call Child Protective Services.

“Honey, we’re so dead right now, I’m about to call a mortician to see what’s up,” Remy said flippantly, gesturing to the empty tables and chairs in front of him. “Say whatever the hell you want.”

He wasn’t wrong: at the moment there were only a handful of regulars scattered throughout the trendy cafe, but Patton knew enough about working service industry jobs to know not to be naive. The rhythm of customers ebbed and flowed, and at any moment there could be a rush of business that would keep Patton and Remy busy for hours.

Patton leaned backwards slightly to check on his son. Virgil was sitting in the back room with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over his head, his sketch pads and crayons scattered on the table before him. Patton watched as he stuck his tongue out, carefully tracing seemingly random shapes onto the paper with a blue crayon before switching to fill them in with a purple one.

Satisfied, Patton turned back to the conversation.

“And you know, when we finally did make it to his class, he wasn’t even worried about being late anymore,” Patton continued. “I mean, he still didn’t say anything to the other kids, just went straight over to Kai, but he was still smiling by the time I had finished explaining everything to Dr. Picani, so…” 

Patton didn’t miss the way Remy paused in counting the money in the register for just a moment, before returning to the task with a forced air.

“Oh, how is the Doc doing?” he asked casually, not making eye contact with his best friend.

“Pretty good, I think,” Patton replied. “We did talk about his recent trip to Hawaii, I think he said it was his honeymoon—”

Patton jumped as Remy dropped the handful of quarters he had been rolling.

“What?” he asked, looking at Patton with such a look of panic that he couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Remy flushed. “Oh, you— you motherfucker—”

He continued to hurl baseless insults at Patton as the two squatted down to pick up the coins.

“Gotta say, Rem,” Patton teased, relishing in the blush that covered his typically unshakeable friend’s face, “You’ve seemed very invested in the goings on of Dr. Picani lately.”

He shifted backwards to sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor behind the counter, resting his hand on his chin and smirking.

“Is there anything you wanna share with the class?”

Remy scoffed, still picking up the coins one by one.

“I’m just… curious about the guy, okay?” he replied defensively. “I mean, Lord knows we never had a teacher who seemed to give a shit about his students, and this guy… does.”

He faltered for a moment, before blustering on, “Whatever. I don’t even know him. I don’t care what he does.”

Remy stood up, dusting off his pants as he continued sorting the money. Patton looked up at him with an expression of barely-contained amusement.

“... So have you picked out the outfit you’re gonna wear when we see him on Monday?” 

Remy scoffed again. “Of course, I’m not an animal.”

Patton heard the bell above the front door ring, and saw Remy’s eyes shift from the register to the door.

“Can you take this one?” he asked, looking down at Patton. “I gotta run to the back for some change.”

He turned and walked away before Patton could answer, leaving him to scramble above the counter just as the customer arrived.

“Welcome to the Sandman, what can I get for ya?” Patton asked chipperly, slipping into his customer service voice with a practiced ease as he slid on a pair of rubber gloves.

He looked up just in time to see the customer’s eyes widen in shock at his sudden appearance.

“Wow, how long have you been hiding back there?” he asked, eyeing Patton up and down.

Patton gave a polite laugh. “Just waiting for you to walk in!”

… Okay. That wasn’t great. Patton had meant ‘ _you_ ’ in a general way, as in ‘ _a customer that Patton was getting paid to talk to_ ’ kind of way, but from the way the man’s smile spread, Patton couldn’t help but feel there had been a teensy tiny misunderstanding.

“Well, I hope I’m worth the wait,” he replied smoothly. Patton gave him a tightlipped smile.

“What can I get you?”

Thank gosh, the man didn’t push it, ordering a large iced chai latte to go. Patton busied himself with making the drink, his hands shaking just a little bit. He forced them to stop, taking a deep breath before turning around with a smile plastered on his face.

“That’ll be five bucks even,” he stated, sliding the cup across the counter as the man opened his wallet.

He handed Patton a five, then made a show of placing another five in the tip jar.

“Tip, tip, hooray!” Patton cheered lightly. Remy told him that chant was the dorkiest thing he’d ever heard, and under no circumstances was Patton allowed to utter that phrase within the walls of his chic coffee shop. Patton generally ignored him on that one.

He looked away to place the money in the register, but when his gaze rose he saw the man still standing there, sipping the drink while making… slightly uncomfortable eye contact with Patton.

He paused. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man hummed. “A couple things,” he said, loudly swirling the ice in his drink. “Your name, maybe. And your phone number.”

It didn’t sound like a request. Patton felt himself grimace before he smoothed his expression into something more customer friendly.

“I’d prefer not to give out my personal information to a stranger,” he replied, willing his voice to come out clearly despite the tremble he felt in his throat.

The man shrugged. “If we get to know each other, we won’t be strangers.”

He leaned over the counter, dripping tea onto the surface that Patton had _just_ wiped down.

“So what’s a pretty guy like you doing in a place like this?”

And _that_ set off all sorts of alarm bells in Patton’s head. He couldn’t stop the way his face contorted at the man’s tone, his words, his body language, the way he called him ‘ _pretty_ ’, like he was some kind of— 

Patton shut that thought down immediately.

“Working, actually,” he snapped instead, watching the man’s smile slide off of his face.

“And if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, voice raised a little bit in an attempt to get Remy’s attention, “I need you to get off the counter.”

The man sneered, opening his mouth again, and Patton tensed— 

“He’s right,” Remy announced, coming out of nowhere to lean over the counter and look the man dead in the face. “We sell drinks, not dates. Maybe go get a personality and you won’t have to drop a fiver just to get someone to talk to you.”

The man glowered back in a weak attempt at intimidation, but the glare Remy was leveling him with was not leaving any room for discussion. He scoffed, standing upright and shooting Patton a dirty look before walking away, slamming the door on his way out and causing every patron in the place to jump.

Remy swiped the dishrag from Patton’s apron pocket, wiping away the drips of tea like they personally offended him.

“Fuckin’... I hate assholes like that,” he muttered, not looking at Patton. Patton watched him clench and unclench his jaw for a moment.

“Rem,” Patton said softly, “I’m okay.” He placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, who leaned into the touch subconsciously.

“Daddy? Remy?”

The two turned to the small voice coming from the back room. Virgil’s head was just barely visible peeking out from behind the door frame, his hood pulled so far over his head he had to lean backwards to see the two men from underneath it.

Patton’s face broke into a genuine smile at the cute sight before he even realized it. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Um, um, I, um—” Virgil started, twisting his body a little as he stared nervously out into the cafe. He fell silent, gnawing on his lower lip, and looked at Patton with worried eyes.

“Go help your stormcloud, Daddy,” Remy said with his usual flippancy, reaching a hand to Patton’s on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly. “I’ll man the counter.”

Patton squeezed his shoulder in return, and quickly moved to the back room. Upon confirming that Patton was coming to join him, Virgil took a few shuffling steps forward and held his arms out to be picked up.

“Upsy daisy!” Patton said as he reached his son, hoisting Virgil onto his hip as he took them both into the break room. He moved to put Virgil down on the small couch they kept in the back for emergency naps, but Virgil gripped Patton’s shirtsleeves tight and wordlessly shook his head.

“Oh, you want snuggles, kiddo?” Patton asked. Virgil hesitated for a few moments before nodding, burying his head into the crook of Patton’s neck.

“Alrighty then,” Patton said, gingerly sitting on the couch without disrupting his son’s position against his chest. One hand rubbed Virgil’s back slowly yet firmly, while the other pulled down Virgil’s hood to toy with his hair.

“Vibe check, kiddo?”

He felt Virgil breath deeply against his shoulder.

“I, um, I, um— he, he was mean,” Virgil said, his voice muffled through the fabric.

Patton froze, then deflated a little. “You saw me talking to that man, huh, stormcloud?”

Virgil nodded. “He was _not_ nice,” he emphasized. Patton smiled a little.

“I don’t know what kind of person he is, but you’re right. The way he was acting just now was not very nice.”

Patton figured the guy was just as much of a douche in the rest of his life as he was a few minutes ago, but it was important for Virgil to know the difference between ‘doing something bad’ and ‘being a bad person’.

“Well, don’t worry,” he continued, making his voice sound confident. “Remy told him to run away and never, ever come back.”

Virgil pulled back to look up at Patton. “Not even for a hundred years?”

Patton grinned. “Not even for a hundred, hundred years.”

Virgil gasped, eyes widening as he tried to picture a number that big.

“Not even, not even for a hundred, hundred, _hundred_ years?” he asked, jaw dropped.

“Not even for a hundred, hundred, hundred, hundred—” Patton leaned his face closer to Virgil’s, pressing their foreheads together as he finished, “— _hundred_ years!”

The two burst into giggles, Virgil wiggling at the feeling of Patton leaning his head on his. “Daddy!”

Patton laughed, pulling his head back and letting Virgil lean back against his chest.

“Two minutes or five?”

Virgil chewed on his lip as he thought. “Five, please, thank you.”

Patton nodded. “Five minute snuggles, it is.”

As he leaned back into the couch, Patton thought back to the rude customer.

He _was_ attractive, Patton supposed, but his personality was an obvious deal breaker. And if Virgil could tell he was mean without even talking to him? Oh, there was no question in Patton’s mind that he did the right thing by turning him down.

Still, he sighed, curling his arms tighter around his son.

He wasn’t… _opposed_ to the idea of dating. Despite the struggles of his day-to-day life, he was generally happy. He had so much to be happy about! Virgil, and Remy, and his jobs, and the fact that he had come so much farther than he’d ever thought he could. His life wasn’t perfect, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He just wished he had someone to share that life with. Romantically.

Over the sound of his troubled thoughts, he heard Virgil inhale deeply, shoving his head into his chest and rubbing his little cheek against the fabric of his shirt. Patton grinned, reaching up to brush some of Virgil’s hair back behind his ear.

“Love you, kiddo,” he murmured. Virgil made a muffled sound into his chest that Patton knew was his son returning the sentiment.

He sighed a little, rubbing Virgil’s back in soothing circles. Virgil was his number one, his little stormcloud. As long as he knew Virgil was happy, healthy, and safe, that’s all Patton needed to worry about. Save the dating for later. Hopefully.

~

“... And out of nowhere, he looked me right in the face and said, ‘Larry, I just can’t with you right now!’”

The jovial man could barely get the words out before breaking into loud laughter. “Logan, when I tell you I almost peed my pants—”

“I’ll have another talk with Remus about referring to his teachers by their last names only,” Logan stated, skimming the pamphlet they had gotten at the meeting.

“Only because I don’t want everyone to start doing it,” Larry replied with what seemed like genuine regret. “Don’t punish the kid for being a comedic genius.”

A banging at the door of the classroom made the two men jump.

“Sorry!” called Dot, entering with two bags of takeout in her arms. “The darn bags are slipping, so unless you guys want to eat your dinner off the floor—”

Larry was already rushing to help his wife. Emile followed her into the classroom, carrying a bottle of Coke and a pack of red solo cups.

“We’re borrowing these from the teacher’s lounge,” he chirped, placing them on the table where Dot and Larry deposited the food.

Larry raised an eyebrow. “Wow, a whole two liter? Emile, you criminal!”

Emile shrugged, smiling innocently as he poured each of them a cup. “What? I didn’t steal anything; they were in the teacher’s lounge, and we’re teachers, so technically—” 

“ _Technically_ , we’re trespassing,” Logan interjected as he began sorting through and passing out the food. “Even though Dot has the key to her classroom, the school itself is private property, and therefore should we be caught here after hours by law enforcement, there would most likely be legal repercussions—”

“Fuck cops!” Larry cut Logan off, raising his solo cup in the air with a defiant attitude.

“Fuck cops!” Dot and Emile echoed, the three of them tapping their cups of wine together before downing them like they were doing tequila shots at a college party.

Logan smiled. “I'm glad we're all teaching our children the important lessons.” 

“Speaking of teaching children…” Emile said as the four began to dig into their food with gusto, “who’s ready for the meet and greet on Monday?”

His chipper tone of voice was met with three groans, causing his jaw to drop. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!”

“I just don’t get why they had to schedule the seminar _and_ the meet and greet on the same darn week!” Dot replied. Larry nodded in agreement.

“And like, what do they even want us to say? It’s only been a couple weeks— I’ve barely gotten to know some of my students!”

“It’s merely the school encouraging us to form more personal connections with the students’ families, in order to ensure more funding from their respective donations,” Logan replied without thinking, much more focused on his burger than the conversation.

“No kidding,” Emile said, scowling at his burrito like it personally offended him. “I just wish we could really get to know our students, and their families, too.”

Visions of a man in a blue polo shirt flashed through Logan’s mind.

“Itinerary check for Monday,” he announced suddenly, flipping open his notebook and turning to the proper page despite his friends’ groans. “The doors to the auditorium open at five. At six, the principal gives the welcome speech and PTA information about the upcoming year, and given how they tend to ramble—”

“More like they just love the sound of their own voice,” Dot muttered.

“We should be ready to begin speed meetings by seven,” Logan finished. “Dot, you’ll have about eight minutes to talk to the guardians of each student. Larry, five, and Emile, unfortunately it looks like you’re down to three and a half minutes per student.”

He pulled out the spreadsheet he had made the night before, sliding it across the table with the math he’d done to get those calculations.

Larry snorted. “Wow, someone had a lot of free time on their hands.”

Logan felt his chest tighten just slightly, but he pushed past it to finish, “If this all goes according to plan, we should be packing up our tables by eight at the latest. Then Emile will be home in time to feed his cats, Dot and Larry will be home in time for The Bachelor, and—”

“And you’ll be home with plenty of time to spare before the good night call,” Emile finished. He smiled softly and reached over to pat Logan’s hand in appreciation. “I’ll help you pack your table when we inevitably aren’t out of there by eight.”

Logan bristled. “Well, that won’t be necessary, since we will be out of there by eight. My timeline clearly shows—”

“Has your timeline factored the amount of chatty PTA parents, shy or stubborn students, and overall incompetence of our administration?” Larry asked blithely, grinning when he made Dot snort behind her solo cup.

Logan’s mouth opened and shut for a moment before he looked back at his spreadsheet.

“It’s not my fault I prioritize punctuality,” he grumbled slightly. Emile laughed, reaching over again to jostle Logan’s arm, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling along.

Dot pulled the spreadsheet closer, peering at it over her glasses. “Wow, you really put a lot of thought into this, L. You think we can really get the whole gym set up in less than twenty minutes?

Logan shrugged. “We’re a highly competent bunch. Not to mention the PTA volunteers will be there to assist.”

“You know, it’s really nice to know there are people who would come in on their day off to put out hundreds of folding chairs before sitting through an hour long assembly,” Larry said. Dot nodded, chewing vigorously and pointing at Larry.

“And the decorations!” she added after swallowing. “I mean, gosh, the streamers, the banners, the _snack table_ —”

At the mention of the snack table, Emile made an appreciative noise. “Oh my goodness, do you remember that babka someone brought in for the last assembly? With the cinnamon?”

Both Larry and Dot nodded enthusiastically. Logan didn’t remember it; he didn’t usually go for the complimentary food brought in by the parent volunteers. He shrugged, eyes back on his food as the others continued to talk.

“Gosh, that was good,” Emile continued. “I want that recipe so bad! Do we remember who brought it in?”

“Hm, not sure. Dee, wasn’t it a kid from your class? That’s why we got first dibs on it.”

“Oh, yeah… was it Virgil?”

Logan froze.

“Yes!” Emile said, snapping and nodding. “Yes, it was Virgil’s daddy— oh gosh, what’s his name…” 

“Patton?” The word slipped out before Logan had even fully processed what he was saying.

The other three looked at him.

“Yes, that’s it,” Dot replied in surprise. “Patton Hart. How did you know that?”

“We met yesterday morning,” Logan replied, eyes on his food again. “I gave him access to the building, and we had a conversation. He was exceedingly pleasant—” 

“Oh!” Emile cut off Logan with a gasp as he whirled on Dot. “Oh, Dot, I can’t believe I forgot— Virgil _really_ came out of his shell yesterday!”

Dot perked up, sitting forward; Logan assumed she must have been Virgil’s teacher the year before. “Really?”

He nodded quickly. “Oh my God, Dot, you should’ve seen it. I mean, Virgil was glowing when he came in!” Emile waved his hands wildly, his excitement for his student shining out of him. “And you’ll never believe this— we were making things out of clay at art time, and when I asked if anyone wanted to talk about their work, he raised his hand!”

Dot gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Are you kidding me?” She turned to her husband, batting at his chest. “Larry!”

“Ow, ow, ow, I heard! I heard!” he responded, grabbing for his wife’s hands to stop her from attacking him out of joy.

Emile sat back in his chair. “And Patton, I guess they’d been running late that morning, but he told me Virgil had… gotten a compliment on his hoodie…”

His eyes widened slightly as he shifted to look at Logan; Dot and Larry followed his gaze.

“Wait,” Emile said, voice full of surprise but no less joy, “was that you?”

Logan felt a strange shyness; he shrugged, replying, “I told him I liked his hoodie, yes. I didn’t realize it would have such an impact.”

“How is that even possible?” Dot added. “I mean, he’s the sweetest little thing, but I don’t think he said five words the entire time he was in my class. All he wanted to do was sit at his table all day and draw," she finished, pointing her thumb over her shoulder to the wall of art from her current and past students.

He followed Dot’s gesture to one picture in particular: two stick figures, one short and one tall, holding hands. It was surprisingly well drawn for a kindergarten art project, and although the handwriting was not as clear, he could tell that the large block letters across the page read ‘I Love You Daddy— Love Virgil'

"Aw," Logan said, feeling himself soften at the evident care Virgil had put into the card. However, another look at the wall the drawing was stuck on revealed a significant difference in Virgil’s card: where his was clearly for his father, every single other card on the wall specifically included the words ‘Happy Mothers’ Day’.

Dot seemed to follow his train of thought just as quickly as he had it, and when he turned to her with a questioning glance she gave him a somewhat sad smile. 

“Virgil’s mother is… no longer in the picture,” Dot finished slowly. “I don’t know all the details—” 

“That’s quite alright,” Logan interjected quickly. The memory of his brief interaction with the Harts was still fresh in his mind, and now he was faced with the prospect of seeing them, seeing Patton, again. The thought filled him with— something. Something good. So he would prefer to not learn the more private details of Patton’s life through second-hand sources.

… Well. There was… one specific detail Logan was, admittedly, curious to know.

“Is there another adult figure in Virgil’s life?” he asked casually. “Patton’s girlfriend, maybe, or— or boyfriend…”

A beat, and then the other three broke into laughter.

“No, boyfriend is definitely right,” Dot eventually answered, giving Logan a knowing smile.

Logan flushed. “Ah, yes. I had… suspected, as much.”

Emile giggled. “I forgot your gaydar is permanently broken, Logan.”

“I’ve only ever had one partner before!” Logan defended, his face growing hotter.

“Same with me and Dot, but our bifi works just fine,” Larry replied smugly. Dot held out her hand and the two high fived without looking at each other.

Logan sighed, collecting his trash from his food and pushing back his chair. “You’re all bullies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr at [olliedollie1204](olliedollie1204.tumblr.com)!


End file.
